Undertale Flicks
by Gadby
Summary: wow not unoriginal
1. Irrefutably the sexiest Undertale fanfic

Asriel Dreemurr was at the Home Depot buying some plywood when he realized that one of the plywoods was Frink (Frist but i misspelled it and won't change it) and said, "Frins! What are you doing!?"

Frisn smiled and said, "I am a plywood now."

Asriel was taken aback by this. "But my girlfriend can't be a plywood! I thought you were a human person! How am I suppous to have sexi with you?"

Fring smiled a sexi smile and said "I'll will show you. Come with me into the gender neutral wheelchair-accessible restroom."

Asriel followed Frike into the restroom. "Okay what now" he whispered loudly.

Fries grinned devlisly. "Like this," and then puled down his pant and traveled up his butt.

"Yowch!" Asriel exclaimed. "There are splinters in my anus."

"That's the fun part."

Asriel sighed. "Okay it's not _that_ bad," he said.

Suddenly the room filled with hot semen and they both drowned except Firsk didn't because **D**


	2. Why Steak & Shake is so good

One day Asriel and Flisk were cuddling when Asriel felt a warm glow coming from Frask's plywoody body. "Whatare you happening!?" he exclaimsed.

" g" was the reply.

 **Frysque has evolved to level 2 plywood !1**

"OMG your level 2"

"you're*"

"sorry"

Asriel scratched his balls while Fredge admired her new body. "Wow, I am 34.01% sexier now. We should hecc"

Asriel agreed to this. Frupe pulled down Asriel's pant and took off his shirt. "Wowie," Asriel said, as Frisbee began hitting his crotch with the entirety of her body. To an oblivious bystander, no different from the 7 that were staring at them from the opposite side of the Denny's parking lot they were in, it would look like a goat boy was being smacked by a ghost with some plywood, which was exactly what was happening.

"boo" said the ghost Frisk, dropping the plywood and coming into view. Her chest and hips and stomach were bare, for ghost clothing doesn't exist. However, her entire body was an uncharacteristic white sheet of nothingness, so sorry if you were goijg to touch your peepee while imagining the image of a sexy naked ghost girl.

Asriel gawked. He guffawed. He threw his head up to the sky and made high-pitched keening noises. He gasped. He choked on his aspirations. He committed treason. He took the subway from Broadway to 18th. He said, "What the heck." He said it again. He didn't say it a third time.

This time Frisk acually did took the form of a sexy naked ghost girl, so Asriel was very turned on. "Omgheck can we have intercourse now?" Frisk shook her translucent head. "I'm a ghost. We have to be on the same astral plane to do that."

Asriel had already jumped off a bridge. After he died, he spent 10,000 years in purgatory, and then he came back to Earth. However, Frisk was not there. "Frisk?!" he called out. But... nObOdY cAmE OwO aAAAGVagaFagasgagsgbbabsbasgdfssfagsjskdk

Nobody came because ghosts don't cum, and Asriel didn't know that. Frisk had learned it nearly 10 centuries ago. Right after Asriel had killed himself, the ghost of Steve Busecimi had tried to have sex with her. Prior to the incident, Ghost Busecimi had filled his balls with tartar sauce and dog sweat, which is pretty much the same thing as cum. Ghosts can build up an orgasm but never cum, hence leading to an eternal punishment of neverending blue balls. Upon learning this, Frisk had drawn a milk rune to exorcize herself, and from that moment on ceased to exist. Ghost Busecimi, however, still roams the plains to this day, looking for a cure to a condition that is only known now as "ghost balls".

Anyways Asriel wandered around until he had to use the restroom. He found a Steak & Shake and asked where the boy's room was. Nobody would listen to him so as revenge he took a big ol' shit in one of the shakes. When the customer who had bought the shake tasted it, it was so good that his face shrunk to the size of a dying neutron star and created a black hole. The secret scientists at every Steak & Shake harnessed the energy from the black hole and the tastiness from the ghost shit in the shake and created a shake recipe that was good enough to make you piss your pants but not intense enough to make you turn into a black hole.

So yeah that's why Steak & Shake is so good


	3. The loose ends are tied up slash burned

Ghost Asriel decided that he didn't want to live in a world without Frisk, so he jizzed on a statue of Guy Fieri right outside a church. He was immediately banished to hell. In hell, Satan took off his polo shirt and khakis, letting the fiery rain make his bulging muscles gleam. As Asriel came by he said, "Omgheck your like really hot."

"You're," Satan corrected.

"Sorry lol"

As a punishment, Satan started to whip Asriel with a piece of alfalfa and hasn't stopped since.

Five out of the seven people in the Denny's parking lot who had witnessed the weird and gross bs that had gone down there were all conveniently in the same observatory when the Great Nevada Rainstorm struck, burning through the concrete of the building and tearing their flesh. The rain "water" collected near a distillery and leaked into the filtration system. A day later, the sixth man from the Denny's parking lot drank the water from the same brand that was currently contaminated.

The last man was the trickiest. Most people say he was looking for attention, but in reality he realized that being locked indefinitely in a padded prison cell was a better life than going to Denny's every day for free WiFi to watch videos with titles such as Ben Shapiro DESTROYS Feminist Libtard. akskaksakavabab

So he feigned trauma, freaked out, and even bit a police officer. He still paces in the McNugget Asylum to this day.


	4. Understale Flicks 4: DOWN UNDER-TALE

UNDERTALE FLICKS EPISODE 4:

 **DOWN UNDER-TALE**

A/N: I'm trying to kill off/dispose of every character in both Undertale games and independent side characters that come up in my stories. I'll now start to make a list of every character that hasn't been killed off (yet), and their statuses, starting with every living character in every previous story I've written (including stories in other universes because hey why not). If and when a character dies, I will cross out their name in the list and write their cause of death.

CHARACTER COUNT:  
Ghost Asriel - in Hell  
Ralsei - ?  
Ralsei's bus driver - Alive(?)  
Ghost Steve Busecimi - ?  
Everyone involved with Steak 'n Shake - Still in business  
Satan - in Hell, torturing Ghost Asriel  
Rick Harrison - Still in business  
Chester V - on probation  
Flint Lockwood - in sex addiction rehab  
Sam Sparks - in vase addiction rehab  
Seventh eyewitness from Denny's - in McNugget asylum  
All the vampire batsnakes - swarmin' around  
Employees working at the unknown corporation that killed Susie and Kris - ?

Tell me if I missed anyone. AnYwAyS..

Barry McThyroid, the deputy manager for a Steak 'n Shake in a rather small town just outside of Melbourne, was in the middle of flipping a burger when a news flash came on on the TV, which happened to be within his line of sight. There was a video that seemed to be taken from an Android phone (the framerate was at about 2FPS and the quality looked like it was being shot from the inside of someone's asshole). The camera (if you could even call it that) was pointed at the sky, where a tiny speck had appeared. As the speck increased in size and fell and the camera panned downwards, one could see many other people recording with their shitty Androids as well. Then, onscreen, the speck made contact with the horizon and a bright flash lit up the TV. For a few moments, the entire screen was white, except for the headlines below. Then the brightness subsided a little bit and the video cut off. The screen changed to a young lady sitting at a desk, holding a stack of papers and staring at them, sweating and visibly shaking. That feed cut off as well, and a multicolored "Please stand by" screen appeared in its place.

Barry processed all of this in the one second that the burger was in the air, somehow, and quickly turned back to the grill. Too late, his spatula swung out in front of him and tried to catch the steaming burger as it flew down in like literal slow motion towards his dick area. The patty struck his ballsack and burned through his pants, catching his dick on fire. He screamed and then died.

Nah just kidding. The burger landed on the floor, and Barry picked it up and put it back on the grill because that's just how Steak 'n Shake do my wigga, who cares about etiquette and besides the bacteria will be cooked off anyways and besides besides it's not like Steak 'n Shake floors are that dirty anyways. Plus this is in fucking Australia, where people just pick shit up off the ground and eat it, so yeah nobody cared.

However, Mr. McThyroid did fall over onto a bucket of fresh juuls and bust his tailbone, so he had to go to the hospital.

(Now it's time to incorporate some actual Undertale characters so I don't get taken down and told to move to FictionPress, which SUCKS ASS.)

A uh, squiggly guy from the Darkner place I guess walked into Barry's room, where Barry was in an ass brace. "Hello, Mister...?"

"McThyroid," Barry answered.

"I know, I read your form. _Dumbass._ Why would I not know your name? Anyways, looks like you'll be in here for a few more days-"

"Wait, didn't you see the news report? About the bombs?"

"Oh, that?" The squiggly guy, who Barry now noticed was dressed as a nurse, gave him a look like he was a hobo on a train. "That was in America. We're safe here."

Barry felt a tremor. "What was that?" he asked nervously.

"Oh, we're right next to a busy railroad."

Barry looked out the window. He saw no railroad, but he did see a beautiful skyline and the clear night sky.

"What floor are we on?"

"Like, the 10th floor. Why?"

"How could we feel-"

Another tremor, lasting slightly longer this time.

A bright flash from outside the window.

 **And now, an interlude.**

Ralsei stared down at the mangled, bloody mess that was the corpse of Chris Ballew after getting shot in the head several times and plummeting like 200 feet into the desert sand below. He stared some more. He didn't do it a third time.

Ralsei needed to check something. He rushed down the stairs and reached the bottom, out of breath but hopeful. He circled around the side until he reached the corpse, which was already collecting flies. Desert flies? Out here? Not likely, sir. But I guess that's how it is, right? Ralsei thought.

Ralsei used one fluffy hand to clear away some of the entrails and found a gleaming piece of polished wood. The headstock of a guitar. He pulled, and a metallic red guitar plastered in stickers slid out from the muck, completely undamaged. What was weirder was that as soon as it was pulled from the blood of its previous owner, it was completely clean and shiny.

 _Interesting._

Ralsei picked up the axe and, not knowing how to play it, accidentally transformed it into an actual axe, the body becoming razor-sharp. He dropped it in surprise, and the instrument/weapon let out a garbled scream of distortion which almost blew out his eardrums.

 _Very interesting._

Ralsei had never, like, come into any contact with a guitar before, so he wasn't that surprised when it played without an amp, or stayed completely clean, or transformed into a battle axe. This is normal, his fluffy brain thought. Yeah, even his brain was fluffy. That's how fluffy he is.

"Well damn, what now?" he asked to nobody in particular.

Nobody answered. "I think I can call an Uber."

Ralsei literally jumped out of his pants, which was easy because he didn't really have any, just his robe and jizz-soaked boxers (from when he fucked Gamora/Chris Ballew). "Who said that?"

Ralsei then noticed a shimmery presence in front of him, like a mirage in the desert. That's what it was, actually. Nobody answered, and this time I'm not talking about the person.

Instead of an explicit answer, a car drifted around from behind Ralsei and almost sideswiped him, then skidded to a stop next to him. The passenger-side door opened. Ralsei turned around and saw tire tracks in the sand, extending as far back as he could see, seemingly all the way from the bus stop.

Ralsei, a little confused, stepped inside the car, holding the axe between his legs. As soon as he did, the door slammed shut and the engine revved. Then they were off, the wheels throwing up great plumes of sand beside them.

"Fasten your fucking seatbelt," said the voice.

Ralsei jumped again. "Who are you?"

"Oh, Nobody important. Don't worry about it."

"How did this car just appear?"

"What are you talking about? I called an Uber like two hours ago."

"What?"

"This is the Uber. It just picked you up?"

" _What?_ "

"Say 'what' one more goddamn time, motherfucker! I dare you! I double dare you, motherfucker!"

A black man with an afro and a suit suddenly appeared in the driver's seat, clutching the steering wheel. He pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at Ralsei. He looked vaguely like Samuel L. Jackson.

"Wait..." Ralsei thought for a moment. "Oh! What the hek? Jules Winnfield from Pulp Fiction?"

"You're damn right, motherfucker! Now shut the fuck up!" Winnfield yelled.

Ralsei shut the fuck up.

 **A minute later...**

"Okay, what the heck is going on though?"

Jules pulled over.

"All right, you smelly-ass minty-ass goat face nigga, you better listen because I'm only telling you this once." Something in Jules's face changed, and then it changed some more. Suddenly, Jules's face looked a lot like the famous TV personality William Sanford Nye. He was now dressed in a lab coat.

"Uh oh!" the man said, and a miscellaneous cartoon sound effect played somewhere from the back of the car. "Looks like I said the N-word!" He looked at his hands. "Ah shit, I'm white. What a doozy, huh? Huh! Who are yo-"

Bill Nye was interrupted by the car hitting a curb and flying into the air, crashing into a brick wall. Ralsei was flung forwards and his face smacked against the glovebox, which smacked him in return as the airbag compartment swung open and gave Ralsei his third concussion in as many seconds as an airbag burst out and into Ralsei's face. Ralsei groaned and then passed out.

The goat child came to on a hard floor. He shifted and realized he was missing his robe. He was dressed in only his boxers now, plus the shit that he usually wore, meaning his hat and scarf. And glasses. Can't forget about those. _lol._

Ralsei opened his eyes and stared at a stone ceiling. He tried to sit up but a bolt of pain shot through his neck. He realized that his scarf was actually a neck brace. He tried again, ignoring the pain. He got on his ass, and from there tried to stand up. He couldn't feel his left leg. He looked down. Below his knee, there was an empty nothingness where his leg used to be. He slid back, trying to escape his lack of leg, and failing, obviously.

He looked around, panicked. It seemed he was in a sort of basement. The floor and ceiling were a nondescript gray and the walls were brick. There was a 20-watt lightbulb hanging from a wire. In the corner there was a metal door.

Ralsei jumped at the sound of a banging at said door. The handle turned roughly and the door swung open on extremely creaky hinges. It took about an hour to fully open. On the other side of the door was Bill Nye. In one hand he was holding a sort of apparatus which looked like a bundle of wires wrapped around a leg brace; in the other there was something that looked like a water bowl for a dog, or a gold pan.

Bill walked up to Ralsei and dropped both the items on the floor. He reached into his spotless lab coat and pulled out something short and sharp and shiny. A razor-sharp... razor.

Ralsei instinctively backed away. Well, it was partially instinct, mostly Ralsei seeing a razor blade.

Bill lunged forwards with inhuman speed and grabbed Ralsei by the scruff of his neck. He lifted Ralsei's right ear and pressed the razor blade to it, pulling him towards the pan thing. Ralsei yelped and struggled, but Bill Nye the Science Guy was too strong. Bill dug into the space just behind Ralsei's goat earlobe, and eventually pulled out something that stuck to Ralsei. It was like it was trying to hold on with a bunch of tiny, sticky, pokey hands. And then it pulled loose. Ralsei felt a fat drop of blood drip slowly down the side of his head. Something metallic clinked into the pan. Bill Nye put the blade away and pulled out some gauze, which he slapped onto Ralsei's mangled under-ear area, securing it with medical tape.

Bill looked at Ralsei and said, "Need something? Water or anything?" His coat was now soaked with blood. "Actually, hold on."

He ran back through the door, a minute later coming back with a bottle of vodka.

"Clear alcohol isn't really good for anything else," he said, dabbing a cotton ball onto the opening and tilting the bottle so that the cotton was soaked in alcohol. He lifted Ralsei's bandage and held the cotton ball against his would. Ralsei recoiled at the sting, but eventually let Bill Nye apply the cotton.

Ralsei grabbed the bottle from Bill and took a swig, spitting it out immediately. "Eww, what is that, Smirnoff?"

Bill Nye nodded. "You're in like, 3rd grade, man. You shouldn't be drinking anyways. If I had kids, I'd wait until they were at least in the double digits before I let them drink liquor."

"Wait," Ralsei said. "I'm a third grader, so I'm obsessed with you. Don't you have a daughter?"

"No, man. I'm not Bill Nye."

Not-Bill Nye looked at his feet. When he looked back up at Ralsei, his face changed. He was now Jules Winnfield. Then he was Ralsei. Then he was Bill Nye again. "I'm nobody. Or anybody."

Ralsei shrugged and rubbed his under-ear wound. "Okay. Well uh, what was all that about?"

Nobody pulled out a pair of tweezers from his jeans pocket and picked up the thing he had pulled out of Ralsei. It appeared to be a red LED light, flashing every so often, connected to several hooked wires. "This is what I'd call a tracking device."

"What? Wait, I think I remember..."

"What did they do to you in that building?"

Ralsei thought. "They had me on a gurney at one point. I looked in a mirror and saw something. Then this guy came in and I threw a syringe at his neck, killing him instantly, and then I went on a murderous rampage."

"I saw the guitar. Was that really-"

"Yeah. Chris Ballew, I guess."

"Well, uh, I think maybe a side effect of whatever twisted, unholy experiments they were performing on you in there gave you crazy ultra-instinct killer reflexes. Or something. I mean, Chris Ballew was a god. A literal guitar god. And you killed him. Not likely for someone normal. Something weird is up."

"Oh, can we just talk about that building for a second, and the company inside of it? Like, what were they? And what's to come of them now that I killed their boss guy?"

"Chris Ballew wasn't the head boss. Not even close. There are greater forces at play here, goat boy."

Ralsei, puzzled, decided to ask about something different.

"What's that robotic leg thing?"

"I'm guessing you've guessed that it has to do with your missing leg."

Ralsei glanced down at his knee-stump and cringed. "Uh, yeah."

"Well, hold still."

Nobody picked up the bundle of wires and brackets that formed the rough shape of a leg and began to untangle the wires around the thigh area. After a few minutes, at the top of the leg one could see something that resembled a fist-sized S-video cable-looking sort of thing, with a bunch of individual, smaller wires around it, attached to brackets which led into pulleys which led into joints which made up the leg. Nobody picked up the leg thing and brought it to Ralsei's stump leg. "Your leg was kind of fucked-up after the car crash. I would have tried to fix it myself but I'm not really a doctor, and plus, I'm pretty sure this thing won't even require you to use crutches after we're done with it."

Ralsei looked at the mechanical leg thing. "So like, a prosthetic?"

"Sort of. You'll see." Nobody began to strap a harness onto Ralsei's stump, turning some cogs here and there as a sort of adjustment system clicked into place. The end of the cable thing extended outwards, then sort of broke off into separate parts and folded back into the length of the cable, held by several levers. Now that the end of the cable was gone, the inside of the cable was opened up and three long, sharp metal rods extended outwards, stopping just below the stump of Ralsei's left leg.

"Uh, I think it's working.." said Nobody. "How do you..." He began to flip switches at random all along the lower part of the mechanical leg thing. Eventually, he got to a switch that was translucent and glowing red-orange, like the switch on a power strip. He pressed it and the rods began to push out and into Ralsei's stump.

"Ow, wait," Ralsei said. "I think it's-"

One of the rods broke the skin. As soon at it did, it extended rapidly until it hit the remains of the bone in Ralsei's leg stump, and from there, fastened itself to the bone and muscle inside of his leg.

Ralsei screamed. The other two rods broke the skin as well, following the same process.

Ralsei, panting, frantically tried to pull the leg off, but the rods were already attached to his leg. Some straps tightened and loosened and tightened again, and the entire mechanism began to click and whir and adjust until it didn't. Ralsei lay on the floor, half-propped up, sweaty and in pain. "Bill! Can I call you that?"

"Uh... well yeah I guess."

"Bill help me this thing just like went inside of me and then attached itself to me!"

"Oh. Okay. Uh, just get over here and I'll help you."

Ralsei, out of habit, stood up and walked over to Bill, and then realized that he was walking on the robotic leg that had just permanently attached itself to him. It was really weird, like he could almost feel it. The whole thing flexed and clicked when he put pressure on it or took pressure off by stepping forward. He could move it like it was his own leg. The weird part was that it was modeled after a human leg, and he had goat leg(s). As soon as he thought this, though, some pistons rearranged and the leg now resembled that of a bovidae. He blinked.

"See?" said Bill. "You're fine. Just ignore the blood."

Ralsei glanced down at his prosthetic, which was gleaming with blood. In fact, the blood was still dripping from his leg wounds where the metal rods had pierced him. "Oh," he said, not really feeling any pain and thus being under the illusion he was perfectly unharmed.

"You know, that guitar you got off of Chris Ballew, it came out fine from the car wreck. Completely unscathed."

"Yeah. It does that."

"Sorry for crashing the car, by the way."

"It's okay." Ralsei didn't entirely know it, but he had suffered traumatic brain, leg and neck injury within the past hour or so. Still, he had a thing for letting stuff go.

"I think you should meet some people. Follow me." Bill walked out the door, and Ralsei followed him. The door swung out into a narrow enclosure, and as soon as they stepped out there was a staircase to their right. I mean, it didn't like just appear there. I know it might have sounded like that.

Ralsei walked up the stairs with Bill and was hit in the nose with the smell of must and beer. He stepped out into a short hallway that opened out into a bar. There was a pool table to the left, which two scruffy-looking men were leaning on while smoking cigars. To his right was the actual bar, and directly in front of Ralsei there was a sort of weird sight. There was an extremely buff black man with his back turned to him, wearing a dress shirt and holding a bottle of Smirnoff. Further past him, a camera and mic man were poised, and next to them was a slick-looking guy wearing a leather jacket. The guy in the jacket said, "Action!" and Ralsei, at a loss for what to do, stood there awkwardly.

"My name is Big Tyrone," the black man said in a deep voice, clutching his bottle of vodka. "I'm a grown man. I drink to ease the stress of everyday life." He held up the bottle, took a tiny sip, and his voice raised a few octaves as he said, "That's why I drink Smirnoff Ice. Yassss!"

"Cut! Perfect!" said the jacket guy. "Wait, who's that by the basement? And where did Bill go, he was just here a minute ago..."

Bill, who was standing next to the guy in the jacket and definitely did not just appear there, replied, "Here, Gary. Just came up from the basement. Didn't you see me bring Ralsei in?"

"Uh, Bill, I'm pretty sure his name is Toothpaste Boy," Gary retorted.

"Okay, retard, why don't you get your crew out of here before I turn into a swarm of batsnakes and chase you out?"

Gary leaned on a chair, which only had three legs and looked extremely close to falling over. "Fine, Bill. But this isn't your bar, either. See you later." He stopped leaning on the chair, which clattered to the floor. He glanced at it nervously and then pretended it never happened, walking out of the bar while gesturing to his crew to follow.

Ralsei blinked in confusion, surveying the scene. The bar had cleared out except for Bill, Ralsei, and Big Tyrone, who was putting on a vest over his dress shirt. He walked behind the bar and leaned on it, looking at Bill, and then Ralsei.

"Well," Bill said. "I guess that settles it." He looked out the window, where the guy in the jacket was stepping into the driver's seat of a nondescript white van, parked in the parking lot. The cameraman and mic man hopped in the back while the two other men tossed their cigars onto the asphalt and stepped on them in unison.

Ralsei blinked again. He did that a lot. "Who were those guys?"

Bill responded, "Well, there's Gary, the pseudo-director guy, or the guy who makes the most money, then there's Wallace and Clark, the camera crew, and the other two guys... well, nobody knows their names, but apparently they're the producers-"

"No, I mean... oh, whatever. Where are we?"

"The Moonlite Bar," said Big Tyrone.

"The Moonlight Bar?" said Ralsei.

"No, the Moonlite Bar," said Big Tyrone.

"Oh," said Ralsei, confused.

"I'm the bartender slash owner slash proprietor slash landlord. In other words, I run this place."

"Oh," said Ralsei, confused why Big Tyrone was still doing his high-pitched valley girl voice.

"When they were shooting that commercial, I used a fake accent."

"Okay..." Ralsei said.

"This is my real voice."

Bill hurriedly gestured to the door to the parking lot before shit got any weirder. "So uh, should we like, recover the guitar from the still-burning wreckage of our Uber car?"

Ralsei nodded and ran outside, except it was a little stilted because of his new leg thing.

In the parking lot, there was a steaming heap of wreckage which loosely resembled a car. A shiny, cherry-red blade stuck out from the wreckage. Bill walked up to it and pulled. Nothing happened. "Hey, Ralsei, could you help me out with this?"

Ralsei blinked, nodded and walked over to the axe. He pulled it out with one hand and hefted it over his shoulder. It changed to a guitar again. Bill narrowed his eyes as Ralsei walked back in. Bill followed him.

Big Tyrone was leaning over the counter, polishing off a glass with a cloth. "Ralsei, Ralsei, Ralsei," he said in his completely normal voice. "How are you going to get back home?"

Bill said, "I'd call an Uber but I'm out of money."

 _clink_

A glass on the counter fell over and rolled away. Tyrone grabbed it before it dropped to the floor.

 _CRASH_

A bottle of scotch fell off the shelf behind the bar.

Ralsei looked at the ground. A chipped-off fragment of tile was rattling around.

Tyrone looked at the remaining glasses on the shelf, which were clinking around.

Bill looked out the window just in time to see a large aircraft pass by. A few seconds passed.

The whole bar shook in a single jolt.

The tile on the floor and the bottles and the foundations of the building began to shake even more.

Bill's eyes went wide.

The television blacked out and a few lines of white text blinked into sight:

 _EMERGENCY BROADCAST SIGNAL  
18:06 PT  
THE GOVERNMENT HAS ISSUED A  
NATIONAL BOMB WARNING ACROSS THE UNITED STATES  
TAKE SHELTER IMMEDIATELY  
DO NOT PANIC_

Tyrone read the screen, processed the situation, and then rushed down the basement stairs. He looked up at Ralsei. "You comin', fluffball?"

Ralsei complied and ran down with Tyrone.

Bill stood completely still, transfixed by whatever he saw outside.

"Bill! Come on!"

Bill turned to look at Tyrone.

The bar was blown into nothingness.

 **CONCLUSION. THIS IS THE END OF THE STORY, NOT A CLIFFHANGER.**


	5. EPISODE FIVE: THE AUTHOR'S NOTE (22)

Due to requests made by pussies hiding behind guest accounts, I'll be making a lot more shit now. It takes time, okay?


	6. 4 UTF6downunder-2 (746)

_Chapter 6_

 _Down Under - Part 2_

CHARACTER COUNT:  
Ralsei Nuclear bomb attack  
Bill Nuclear bomb attack  
Big Tyrone Nuclear bomb attack  
Barry - Alive w/ support of ass brace  
Gary - ?*  
Wallace - ?*  
Clark - ?*  
Producers - ?*  
(*soon _to be revealed_ )

The commercial crew's van sped down the desert highway. Gary drove, Wallace rode shotgun, and Clark sat in the row seat, which was the only other seat besides the front two. The two producers sat cross-legged in the back with the equipment. Where the other row seat next to Clark would have been, there was something that looked like a heavy camera mount (it was), and on it was a headcanon Canon cannon (Canon had recently taken to manufacturing medieval weapons instead of cameras). It was tilted downwards, pointed towards the floor. This was a bit of an emergency precaution. They only had to use it once before, and (they hoped) would never have to again.

The radio was on, blasting Creedence Clearwater Revival. Wallace was singing along with Gary. Clark was unsuccessfully trying to strike up a conversation with the producers.

As the van sped down the road, the crew failed to notice a MiG-27 ground assault jet flying steadily behind them.

"Some folks are born, made to wave the flag..."

"Ooh, they're red white and- wait, it's 'made to _raise_ the flag'."

"No, it's 'waive'."

"Whatever."

Wallace, Clark and Gary burst into a bout of singing/yelling. "IT AIN'T ME, IT AIN'T ME, I AIN'T NO SENATOR'S SON..." ...and so on.

The van shook a bit. "Ah shit, hit a pothole," Gary said, oblivious. "Clark, check and see if we busted a tire."

Clark obliged, rolling down a window and sticking his head out. He looked down, checking the wheels. He was about to give the O.K. when something caught him on the ear. He reached up to touch it when there was another sting, this time on his cheek, and another on his chin.

"What the heck?" Clark thought out loud, turning to look behind him.

His eyes grew wide, and then he covered them, grimacing.

"Drive!" Clark yelled at Gary.

"Uh. Yeah, we're already moving, Clark. I'm assuming this means the wheels are good?"

"Gary, we're gonna die."

" _What?_ "

"Unless you drive."

Gary looked around in confusion. He eventually caught a glance of his rear view mirror.

"Ah, shit." He floored the gas.

Wallace said, "Wait, what the hell is going on?!"

"We gotta get out of here," said Gary.

The speedometer reached 110 miles/hour.

The steering wheel shook and forced Gary to let go of it. The van spun out, facing the opposite direction.

"Fuck," said Wallace.

There was a massive fireball, not ten miles away, forming from the ground up in a dick-shaped cloud, or for everyone with self-respect, a mushroom cloud. Everyone in the van stared at the explosion, and a shockwave rippled around and through them. The van was flung backwards and landed on its right side. It slid backwards, scraping against the road. Gary fell from the driver's seat and landed on top of Wallace. Clark's elbow broke his window as he fell onto it and his face smacked against the pavement, leaving red streaks over gray concrete.

Wallace tried to push Gary off of him while Gary simultaneously tried to crawl out of the overturned vehicle, stepping on Wallace's face. Gary eventually managed to open the door wide enough to squeeze out into the open, but his weight was just enough to shift the van and cause it to fall. Gary instinctively put his hands in front of his face, but instead of hitting the ground he was flung out onto the road and in front of the falling van. Before he could pull his hand away, the van landed on it, crushing his fingers.

In the meantime, most everyone else in the van was getting thrown around. When the van landed, Wallace tumbled out of the right-side door and onto the road. Clark's head, already outside of the window, caught on the frame and got rapidly pulled back and twisted, breaking his neck instantly. The producers were fine, because we were wearing seatbelts.

 **THIS HAS BEEN A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT SEATBELT SAFETY, ISSUED BY THE C.U.N.T.S.** **  
**

A/N yeah i work for them anyways TBC i guess bad non-cliffhanger i know


	7. S2:E3 - fallout

**Undertale DicksSeason 2, Episode 3How to Survive a Nuclear Fallout**

 _Ralsei Nuclear bomb attack_ _Bill Nuclear bomb attack_ _Big Tyrone Nuclear bomb attack_ _Clark Neck broken by shockwave_ _Gary - wounded but alive_ _Wallace - alive_ _Producers - alive_ _Barry - Alive w/ support of ass brace_

Gary stared into the cloud of apparent impending death in front of him while Wallace crawled back into the van. Gary felt a small tremor and knew that a much bigger one was coming. He pulled himself back up and got back into the van. He sat in the driver's seat and tried the ignition, nothing. He tried again. Nothing.

The producers sat in the back, oblivious to the situation around them.

Thousands of miles away, Barry McThyroid sat in his hospital bed, completely _blivious_ to his own situation, which was similar. Yeah, _blivious_ is a new word I just came up with.

 **END OF INTERLUDE**

Barry looked out his window to see a great plume of fire which seemed only a few miles away. His ass brace was holding him down. There was no safe and also quick way out of the window. But would he be hindered? No.

Barry started to tug at the restraints of his ass brace. There were two straps secured by metal rings, knotted in a really shitty complicated knot that Barry knew he wouldn't be able to untie in time. He decided to do something that appear in future history books, if history books were still made in the future.

Barry pushed against the wall with his hand, causing his bed to roll across the room. He grabbed at the handle of a fire extinguisher box, pulling it as hard as he could as he used his momentum in his favor.

The handle snapped off.

Barry stared at the handle.

"Perfect."

Barry pushed off the wall opposite the floor-to-ceiling window, handle in hand. He struck the glass with the handle. It cracked. He hit it again. More cracks. Finally, he reared back and with all his might, kicked through the glass. His foot now dangled in the open air. He was mere seconds away from doing the most retarded thing in his life.

His train of thought up to this point was: _I'm gonna probably die anyways, so why not? This hospital is seconds away from being blown to nothingness, probably. No harm in trying._

Barry threw himself off the building.

Of course, his ass brace and bed were still attached. He was hoping they would snag on the wall or something and break off, but instead they fell right down with him, just making his terminal velocity larger so he would die more violently. The bed was kind of pressing down on him from above. He tried to flip it over but ended up with him straddling the side of the bed. He crawled up and pushed the bed down, so that he was on top of the bed. He really fucking hoped he wasn't about to die.

He suddenly realized that his chances of living were probably less than half a percent. He closed his eyes and braced for impact, and realized that even if he did survive, it wouldn't be for long.

Or so he thought.

The shockwave hit. Barry was flung back into the hospital by the pressure, breaking through a window. His bed acted as a sort of brake, shielding him from most of the impact. He slid across the room and the bed that he was still attached to screeched to a halt.

Barry looked at his hands, startled he was still alive. In immense pain, but still living. He waited for his soul to leave his body, or for his body to explode. Neither happened. He saw that he was still holding the fire extinguisher box handle.

Barry tried to get up, but was stopped by the straps. Ah, the straps. Of course they hadn't just broken off.

Mr. McThyroid looked at the handle. Had it come to this? Would he have to saw off his own ass with a piece of metal just to escape? If that's what it took, he'd be willing to make the sacrifice. But no, not today. There had to be some sort of release mechanism.

Barry managed to roll over, despite his aching ass area and aching everywhere else. It was more of a burning agony, to be honest. He felt around on his butt, which he would, under any other circumstance, consider to be really gay, but he decided to let it go this time, and plus he was wearing socks. There was a squarish button. He pressed it in with a _click._ The brace loosened. Barry squirmed out of it.

Barry went over to the window and looked down. He was at least three stories up. He _had_ survived extraordinary conditions earlier, but decided to not take any chances. He ran to the door, which had been blasted off his hinges and was lying in the hallway. He looked for some stairs or a fire exit, which were often the same thing. He found some stairs, but they were blocked by a pile of rubble and bodies.

Barry looked over the railing. "Yep," he said, and jumped off.

It was dark. It cold. The floor was moving. Everything was blurry.

Ralsei opened his eyes and started breathing again. Both were unconscious decisions.

He was being dragged across the ground. Okay. He vaguely recognized the room. He didn't recognize the hands pulling him. They were big and dark-colored and firm. They were the hands of Big Tyrone.

"Sorry about Bill, kid," he said in what could be considered a regular voice for a guy like him. "He didn't make it in."

Ralsei groaned, passed out, woke up. His head was now on a pillow. No time had passed. A lot of time had passed. These were both true depending on who you asked.

"Where am I?"

"The basement," answered Tyrone.

"What happened?"

"Bomb attack. Everyone's dead. Sorry 'bout that."

There was a slight rumble. Tyrone looked up.

"That happens. There's still excess shockwaves. Probably from other nukes."

There was a bigger rumble. A crashing noise. A cherry-red streak flew from a hole in the ceiling.

Chris Ballew's axe guitar landed right next to Ralsei, embedding itself into the concrete. Ralsei jumped but didn't get up because his entire body was aching and he was still tired. What I meant to say is that he proverbially jumped. Party rockers in the hou

se tonight"Hih" Ralsei said, looking at the weapon/instrument that was less than a dick's length away from his face.

"I think it likes you," said Tyrone.

Ralsei nodded and tried to sit up. He didn't/couldn't. He flopped back down, his head sinking into the pillow.

Tyrone glanced at the hole in the ceiling. "That could be a problem," he said, right before they all died due to radiation exposure.

A/N i was gonna do a thing where bill actually survived because hes a shapeshifter or whatever but, nope. so.


End file.
